The South American Adventure

So here we are almost four months later, back in Buenos Aires having completed a full circle of South America. When we were last here, I was still finding my feet on this strange, new continent and yet now I feel bizarrely at home. Strange, because in a couple of day's time we'll be in our actual homes and there are very few similarities which can be drawn between the two.  

This thought sparked an idea! By comparing England and South America, I can both reflect on my time here and bring this final chapter to a close, highlighting what I've missed about home and what I will miss about South America when I'm finally back on British soil.

#1 English Restaurants vs. South American Street Food

In England we're lucky that we have access to all kinds of cuisines but what we're missing is the option of buying it from a food market. From arepas and tortillas, to tapiocas and buñuelos, the very best South American meals are found on the street. Nothing feels more authentic than sitting cross legged on a cobbled step gobbling down a meal you've seen cooked right in front of you. Though we may have the occasional market in England, it lacks the excitement found at South American food stalls because the meals are priced similarly to nearby restaurants. The beauty of South America's street food is that it's so cheap, you have the freedom to try all kinds of crazy looking dishes which invariably lead to some amazing discoveries. If you don't like a meal, you've lost a couple of pounds at most but the same cannot be said for our London equivalents. It's worth noting that whichever continent you're on, people will often try and warn you away from street food but unless you have a stomach which is lined with flower petals, you'll more than likely be absolutely fine.

#2 English Parties vs. South American Fiestas

I do love good old English nights out but they're a world away from the parties thrown throughout South America. Whereas we like to plan our festivities down to a tee, including which pair of heels will be most appropriate for which club, South Americans just chuck it all together in a spectacularly spontaneous way. Wherever there are people there's potential for a party, whether it be a beach, a city square or a random back street alleyway. Just add some music and the dancing begins! If you were to stop and ask a South American why they're celebrating they'd look at you like you're crazy; 'because we're alive of course!' If you asked the same of a Brit on a night out they'd look at you like you're crazy and down another jägerbomb. 

#3 English Landscapes vs. South American Scenery

South America is massive and so it only makes sense that it has every kind of scenery you could possibly imagine. However, imagining it simply isn't enough and most of it you truly have to see to believe. One country alone can be home to tropical beaches, snow capped mountains, baron deserts and the Amazon rainforest! It's really quite amazing how quickly the scenery can change and no matter how much ground we covered, we never grew bored of simply staring out into South American space. England has some beautiful areas but it lacks the huge variety which makes South America so exciting.

#4 English Solitude vs. South American Smiles 

We English keep ourselves to ourselves. Nobody wants to be that crazy person on the tube who strikes up conversation, even less so the poor soul who has to suffer sitting next to that crazy person. In South America it seems the opposite is true; you'd be mad not to speak to the person next to you. Language barrier? No problem. They'll tease a sentence out of you even if it takes them the entire thirty hour bus journey. As much as they interact with one another, we found locals to be twice as interested in us. They'd offer directions before we even realised we were lost and stop us in the most random places simply to ask where we're from. Initially we had our guards up: all these stories had convinced us that any attempt to speak with us would be some sort of distraction whilst their mate mugged our bags but we soon realised these people have a genuine interest in others around them. And why not? Virtually everyone we spoke to taught us something new and we were continually surprised by the people we'd then choose to return to for a second conversation. 

#5 English Prices vs. South American Pennies

Aside from Brazil and Chile, the countries we visited in South America were dirt cheap. This has obvious benefits but best of all was that it enabled us to try new things that we would never have been able to afford on the same budget in England. For example, we swam with wild dolphins, threw ourselves down a canyon and climbed a 6,000m mountain all for the equivalent of just a few pounds a time. I imagined that dealing with such small figures would devalue the money but quite the contrary! We were ecstatic each time we haggled hard and saved ourselves an almighty sixty pence because that additional sixty pence was not only a couple of coins, but three empanadas, a laundry service or an entire meal at the food market. I'm going to miss how far our money goes and our dedication to making every penny count. 

#6 English Graffiti vs. South American Street Art

Any spritz of colour in an English city is deemed to be vandalism whereas in South America, it is celebrated as art. As a result it's a beautiful and vibrant continent with every blank space a potential canvas for the latest innovative street art masterpiece. Almost every town and city we visited was filled with street murals and interesting, abstract statues, as though the entire area is one big art gallery. I understand there's a fine line between a masterpiece and a monstrosity but I can't help thinking England could do with a little lightening up. If we stopped chasing down every kid with a spray can we might give them time to develop their mindless graffiti into something a little more meaningful.

#7 English Long Journeys vs. South American Never-ending Journeys 

Having done some rough sums we've worked out that during our four months in South America we've spent over four hundred hours on buses. That's about two and a half weeks! The longest stint was our last where we did three overnight journeys in a row, from La Paz to Uyuni, Uyuni to Villazon and Villazon to Buenos Aires - a total of sixty two hours, without including the waiting time inbetween. If we were to drive for this long in England we'd end up half way to Africa! It's hilarious to me now that I used to complain about a one hour journey into London when we can now happily endure a twenty hour bus over various borders. That said, whilst some of the buses were absolutely horrendous, others were very pleasant with fully reclining chairs, in-seat entertainment and three course meals. National Express could learn a lot from Argentinian bus companies!

#8 English Highlands vs. South American Mountains

As much as I love the beautiful South American mountains, they come at a price: altitude! Unless you're content with admiring them from below you'll likely suffer the headaches and breathlessness caused by being so high. Initially we were literally waking up in the night gasping for air and feeling as though we'd run a marathon after climbing a flight of stairs. Though we gradually acclimatised, I never got fully used to living in the clouds and I'm looking forward to feeling full of life again down at ground zero. English countryside can be just as impressive despite not ever exceeding the one thousand metre mark.

#9 English Customer Service vs. South American Sloth Service

South Americans are never in a hurry and their customer service leaves a lot to be desired. It completely baffled us that we could spend twenty minutes queuing to pay for three items at a supermarket, or three hours to do a border crossing that some people have to do every day. Fortunately, as travellers we were rarely pushed for time either and so mostly found their laid back outlook rather refreshing but if I were to actually live here, I think I'd find it far more infuriating. For a nation that love to celebrate life, they spend a hell of a lot of it waiting around for something to happen.

#10 English Health & Safety Madness vs. South American See-What-Happens Mantra

This is always a tricky one. Whilst health and safety regulations are obviously put in place to reduce the likelihood of accidents occurring, when they're applied stringently they simultaneously reduce the likelihood of having any fun. If we'd been following British rules, there's no way we'd have been allowed to share a stream with alligators, walk along an active train track or race head first down a vertical sand slope; all of which were truly awesome. However, had we been eaten, run over or left with broken bones, I imagine they would have been considerably less enjoyable. I'm not sure either continent has the balance completely right here but it was exciting to err on the side of incaution for a little while, and thankfully I've lived to tell tale (touch wood, one day to go!) Where I do definitely side with England though is their approach to hygiene. Though forced to accept a long time ago that filthy squat toilets won't kill me, I nevertheless will be ecstatic to return to western bathroom facilities where the prominent colour is white and toilet roll can actually be thrown into the toilet. 

England and South America really are worlds apart and yet I find myself thinking fondly of both. How is it that I can be happy in two places which are in so many ways direct opposites of one another? Well one thing I've certainly learnt since being away is that nothing is ever black and white in terms of being good or bad, right or wrong, and I think these two places are a great example of that. One is not perfect and the other flawed; they're both just different and both just fine. In fact, more than fine, they're both f*cking fantastic!

I never thought I could love a continent as much as I love Asia but South America has exceeded all my expectations. We spent just shy of four months here but I think even after four years I'd still be left wanting more. I'm almost pleased that there are parts we missed out on because it just means we'll have to return! I've no doubt I'll be back before I know it and I absolutely cannot wait.

Squeezing in the Salt Flats

One simply does not come to Bolivia without visiting the salt flats so even when we arrived back from the El Choro trek to find the road remained blocked, we still weren't quite ready to give up on it just yet. Having camped in tents for the last two nights, we could all do with a shower and a night in a bed rather than a bus anyway, so decided to allow ourselves just one more day. 

And thank goodness we did! To our amazement, the following morning we were able to book tickets to Uyuni, leaving later that day and arriving the next. However, as we hadn't really expected to be going, we were left hideously unprepared for the arctic conditions on the journey. As our bus approached the town, the windows froze over along with our faces, fingers and toes as the average temperature dropped to minus fifteen degrees! It was far too cold to sleep and Hana and I were still awake at four in the morning, in a fit of giggles at how ridiculously cold we were. In this situation it would've been more appropriate to cry but I think the excitement of the salt flats helped us see a funny side. Either that, or we've finally lost it.

Our day began at the train cemetery which sounded rather glum when outlined on the itinerary but it soon became apparent that this was no ordinary graveyard. The giant outdoor area was more like an adult's playground constructed of the old freight trains which were once used to transport the salt between Uyuni and major cities. We spent half an hour clambering on top of carriages, sliding through windows and swinging from storage compartments on these rusty steam trains. It's no doubt touristy but still really fun! I've found more and more recently that the two aren't always mutually exclusive. 

Back in the tour jeep we continued on in the direction of the white desert. We were incredibly tired having not slept a wink but the views out of either window were too awesome to miss. In the distance (though it was impossible to tell how far) there were a handful of mountains that appeared to be floating in mid-air as their reflections in the salt created a magical illusion. Being otherwise surrounded by such a vast expanse of nothingness was quite mesmerising.

Lunchtime was approaching so we made a brief stop at a handicrafts market (where we somehow justified buying more woolly socks) and then headed off to the famous Hotel de Sal. The building itself would not be very impressive were it not for the fact that it's made completely from salt. Inside we browsed the various salt statues, jumped on top of the giant one outside and then sat down to a meal of steak and salad (which ironically could have done with a little more salt.)

Another long drive took us to our final stop of the day, a large island mirador which when climbed gives an even better view of the flats. We decided to walk the entire perimeter, pondering along the way how rarely we get to see a sky to sky horizon. It's stating the obvious to say that the salt flats are really flat but it's worth noting what this actually means; a three hundred and sixty degree view without obstruction, the only limitation being the strength of the human eye. On the return journey to Uyuni, we witnessed the most perfect sunset and the salt darkened as the sky turned ombre. It was so beautiful. 

Due to the strikes and our oncoming end date we only had time for a one day tour but we'd have loved to have explored further to find the lagoons and volcanoes deeper within the park. Nevertheless, visiting the salt flats was one of the highlights of our South American trip and was well worth holding out for. At least this way, we got to escape the cold sooner!

An Unexpected Trek, El Choro

Bolivians love a strike so it was almost inevitable that during our three weeks in the country, we'd experience at least one. Unfortunately for us, the one we encountered prevented any vehicles from entering or leaving Uyuni which was the next town on our planned itinerary. 

We had two options; either we give up on the idea and go through Sucre instead or we hang around in La Paz in the hope that the road would re-open in the next three days. By choosing the latter, we'd still be able to fit in a one day tour of the legendary salt flats (as opposed to the original three) if the strike did in fact seize. 

However, having already spent three solid days walking in circles around the markets and buying everything in sight, we had to find something else to occupy our time. Therefore, we opted for a trek which would enable us to further explore the beautiful Bolivian countryside that we touched upon during our trek to Huayna Potosi.

We met our guide, Alejandro, the day before departure; an elderly man in his early sixties who instantly charmed us with his welcoming smile which we soon found to be permanent feature on his weathered face. He was like the Bolivian grandad we never had and though it was his job to guide us, I felt equally obliged to look out for him too. 

On the morning of the trek we were also joined by his son, Yuni, one of six of Alejandro's children. He has clearly inherited his father's charm and we knew we'd enjoy his company on the long walks ahead. However, before any walking was to be done, we had to drive to La Cumbre. We were supposed to be dropped at the summit but due to the heavy snow storms of the past few days, the vehicle couldn't make it to the top. 

We almost couldn't either! The moment we unlocked the car doors they flung open and we were thrown out onto the roadside. Even with our big backpacks weighing us down, the wind was literally sweeping us off our feet and we had to fight against it to stay grounded in the right direction. In a rush to find warmth, we battled our way to the summit and took cover the other side. With the absence of the freezing cold winds, we could fully appreciate the beauty of our whereabouts. It was a completely clear day and from this high up viewpoint we could see virtually all the mountains which surround La Paz, including Huayna Potosi where we'd been just a few days before.

The El Choro hike follows an old Inca trail which if you were to continue along it for many months, would bring you out at Cusco! It's a relatively easy walk this way around as it's mostly downhill but in the other direction, it would be quite the trek. Along our route we saw the remains of a number of Inca settlements where they would presumably have paused for long rests. 

We'd been walking for three hours when we passed our first modern town. Completely isolated from the rest of the world, this tiny community consists of a few shanti houses, a school and a shabby old building which is presumably their town hall. Two children saw us approaching and came speeding out of their front door with their hands held out in hope. Alejandro gave each of them a caramel sweet and told them to run along. They were covered in dirt and though thankful for the candies, we could tell they wanted more. They needed more. The only other sign of life in this run down ghost town was an old man with one solitary tooth who was sat on the steps of the town hall collecting donations. We were all thinking it; who on earth could live here? But thank goodness none of us actually said it as a few metres on Alejandro pointed to a wooden shack with a widened smile: 'Mia casa!'

Our alpine surroundings in the initial leg reminded us very much of New Zealand which is quite remarkable considering how far away we are from it. However, the beauty of the El Choro trek is that the scenery changes dramatically in just a matter of hours and we soon found ourselves in a jungly terrain which was more like that of Fiji. Gradually the clear skies were overcome with a mist so that we walked the remainder of the trail trapped within a bright white cloud.

After six hours of walking we eventually came to a quaint little camping ground deep in the valley. To enter we had to pass the first of many bridges which we were advised to cross just one person at a time. Slightly concerned, we treaded carefully hoping we wouldn't be the straw to break the llamas back.

The camp site is very basic but has the most beautiful view. We sat down to tea and biscuits where we were joined by two lovely French girls and a boy, all from Paris. We entertained ourselves by exchanging our travel stories until night fall. At dusk, a Bolivian cholita appeared and started lurking around the table. It was a little while before we realised she was chasing a live chicken. 'Cena,' she smiled, dinner.

It was a relatively warm night and even more so because Hana, Erica and I were all crammed cosily into a two-man tent. We topped and tailed with Erica in the middle, and Hana and I half up the sides but I surprisingly slept rather well, soothed to sleep by the sound of the running river. It was only when we were packing away the next morning that we discovered Alejandro had put a one-man up for us too which had remained empty all night.

The second day consisted of another seven hours of walking, the majority of which we simply followed the river. The sun was back out and we took regular breaks to cool down by paddling our feet and splashing our faces. I suspected these rest stops were as much for Alejandro's benefit as they were ours but we were rather grateful as our heavy backpacks were beginning to take a toll on our weary shoulders.

Another night, another camp ground; this time a tiny little ledge on the side of a mountain. It was a pretty surreal place to spend the evening but we huddled around the table for dinner with our new French friends, two Canadians and a Chilean girl. We could barely see what we were eating, having only one candle, two head torches and a few stray fireflies between the nine of us. We were all tired from two long days trekking but played a few rounds of cards before retiring to our tents. The three of us had been looking forward to a more spacious night's sleep but found that Alejandro had only put up the one tent tonight, thinking that we all wanted to stay together. We didn't have the heart (or the Spanish) to tell him otherwise. 

The final day began at six in the morning as we needed to get the majority of the walking out of the way before it became too hot. We only had five hours to complete but it felt like longer as our feet, shoulders and knees began to ache terribly. Once again we were rather thankful for the slow and steady pace of our elderly guide in comparison to the others who looked as though they were racing down the mountain side. We had only just come back from Huayna Potosi, after all!

By the time we arrived in Chairo, we'd completed over twenty hours trekking, covered fifty-three kilometres and met at least eight amazing new people along our way. It was a beautiful trip and though it hadn't made it onto our initial schedule, it was a worthy addition and did a great job of keeping us away from those markets! 

The High Highs & Low Lows of Huayna Potosi

'I climbed Rinjani, I climbed Rinjani, I climbed Rinjani', I repeat to myself over and over as we drive higher up the slopes and out of La Paz. For the last ten months I've been using this as motivation for believing I can do just about anything but as the icy, white world appears behind the city's hills, I can't help thinking that Rinjani may finally have met its match. 

Whilst with the Indonesian giant we started the trek at zero, our battle with Huayna Potosi begins at a base camp, 4,000 metres high. Though this is a welcome headstart which means we'll be covering less ground, it's already 500m taller than the summit of Rinjani. The altitude even on the drive up there is denying us breath and it will only get worse as we attempt to reach the 6,088 metre peak. 

I distract myself with the beautiful scenery surrounding us and notice that we're immersed in a world where everything is either one of two colours; bright blue or pure white. The few wispy clouds in the otherwise clear sky appear like a reverse reflection of the glistening lakes amongst the crisp mountain snow. A little way on we pass a small burial ground with old tombs covered in frost. I find myself wondering who these people were; what was their connection to the mountain? I quickly push aside the thought that it may be those who died climbing.

We stop briefly to pick up equipment. At least we won't be climbing this mountain in disco pants and plimsoles! Our guide hands around plastic boots, ski jackets, trousers, crampons, and an ice axe so that we're better set up for the arctic conditions. In all this gear we look the part but inside I still feel wildly unprepared. There's a statistic whirring round and around in my head that only 60% of people make it to the top. With three of us attempting it, that's not great odds.

That's the other difference between this and Rinjani; with the latter we went in blind, having no idea how hideously hard it would be whereas with Huyana Potosi, we know full well. I can't decide which is worse...

We arrive at the base camp and sit down to a carb loaded lunch with two Israeli boys who are about to leave for high camp as they're climbing the summit tomorrow. To take our minds off the approaching task we exchange stories of our South American travels. It turns out they're going home soon too. 'We're gutted,' we tell them. 'Yes us too, but why are you?' It seems like a stupid question until they explain that they're being called back because they're needed in the ongoing war against the Palestinians. Perspective is a wonderful thing.

With fresh images of our warm, lovely homes waiting for us in two week's time, we head off to the practice area where we'll be taught the various techniques for walking on snow and climbing ice. I'd imagined some sort of Hunger Games style training arena but in fact we're led on a half hour walk to the old glacier (through the snow and ice which technically, we don't know how to walk on yet.) Though there's no fancy Capitol training equipment, the area still looks as though it belongs to a movie set as the icy surfaces of the mountains opposite sparkle silver in the sunshine; it's just too beautiful to be true. It's also the first time I've ever been in snow and not either been sledging, in a snowball fight or built a snowman. It's incredibly hard to fight the temptation but I figure I'd better save my energy for the more sophisticated affair.

With our crampons strapped on, walking through the snow is easy but the ice is a lot more difficult to tackle. Even with an axe in both hands, climbing the vertical wall is virtually impossible. Hana attempts first but finds herself in a crevice and is soon crying tears of both frustration and pain as her hands seize up and she winds up stuck. Erica is next. She climbs to a similar height but loses her footing completely and ends up hanging upside down from the harness squealing. It's comical until we realise she can't breathe! By the time my turn comes around the sunshine has disappeared behind a thick white mist; a bad omen according to our guide who asks me if I still want to try. My honest answer is no, but if I have any hope of reaching the top of Huayna Potosi I need to practice at least once. As I climb straight into the same problem, I'm suddenly concerned that we may not be physically able to reach the top. Though we've always relied on our mental strength/stubbornness, it seems this time it might not be enough. 

Over dinner we share our concerns with our guide who promises that the practice wall is far harder than any of those on the actual trail. This calms us a little and though it's only eight o'clock, we pile on every layer of clothing we own and head to bed. I worry that nerves will prevent me from sleeping but the combination of the altitude and the day's activity has taken it out of me and I'm gone in seconds.

The next morning I wake early to a haze of smoke; it's my own breath. My lips have cracked from the cold and there's ice in the tips of my hair where the water has frozen overnight. Miguel, our guide, should be almost at the summit by now with the two Israelis. We spend the morning patiently waiting for their return but becoming more and more anxious as each hour passes.

Finally, at one o'clock, Miguel comes bounding through the door with our new friends trailing exhaustedly behind. 'Hardest thing I've ever done,' they just about manage, though they can barely muster the strength to speak. It's not particularly encouraging; these are two grown men who spent eight years fighting in the Israeli army. Who on earth do we think we are? There's little time to dwell on it though as Miguel is straight out the door again to lead us to high camp. 'Miguel, you are loco. Girls, good luck!'

The Huayna Potosi guides can climb this mountain up to three times a week but for them it is literally a stroll in the snowy park. It makes me wonder how much easier we'd find it if we were fully accustomed to the insane altitude. We've done our best to acclimatise by spending a few days in La Paz, one night at base camp and munching on Coca leaf products wherever possible. I know very little about what's really contained in these leaves aside from the fact that they help prevent sickness and you can't take them through customs! 

We set off on what I assume will be a relatively easy walk to high camp but I've forgotten our number one rule for travelling; never assume! The snow is falling heavily and it's difficult to see more than a few metres in front of us. Miguel chats to us a little but then storms ahead so that we lose him entirely, his footprints taking over his job as guide. 

It's a bizarre sensation to be so cold and yet working up a sweat as we trudge uphill for hours on end. The air is becoming noticeably thinner and each time we slip it takes all of our energy to haul ourselves back up. I'm thirsty but my water is buried deep within my rucksack beneath crampons, a sleeping bag and all sorts else. Instead of stopping, we throw snowballs to one another and make feeble attempts to catch them on our tongues.

We hear Miguel before we see him, whistling merrily to himself as he runs back down the mountain towards us. Seeing that Erica is struggling with her breathing, he whips her rucksack off her back and hurries on up again with two in tow. It's the first time I truly acknowledge that this man is a hero. 

A little while later, it stops snowing and we continue the trek at a slighter faster pace. 'Solo cuarenta minutas mas!' Miguel tells us with his gold starry toothed smile. However, whether it's intentional or a result of our limited Spanish, he fails to let on just how difficult this last forty minutes will be. The rocky surface disappears and we're suddenly sinking into fresh snow. It feels as though each time we're climbing one step up, we're sliding at least three steps back. We're getting nowhere. 

Miguel looks back in pity and tells us to tie on our crampons. This gives us a little hope but I'm not convinced it's any better. We're still slipping almost knee deep in snow and now struggling to pull ourselves out as well, as the additional equipment weighs down our feet. I'm just starting to think we'll never get there when we spot a coloured flag waving in the wind. 'Over hill. Camp!' 

It's turned rocky again so we take off our crampons and crawl up the final hill. My lower body has turned to jelly and I feel as though I'm being led more by the weight of my backpack than my legs. Each time I'm thrown the slightest bit off balance I'm sure I'll go tumbling back down the mountain. Aside from being a little frightening, I can't face the thought of having to climb back up again.

High camp is even more basic than base camp but we barely notice, instead distracted by the heap of biscuits set out on the table. Completely guilt-free we lather each one in butter and jam, finishing the packet just in time for dinner to be served. Even having completed today's trek, there's absolutely no way we can still be hungry but nevertheless, we stuff it down. This inevitably leads to a food-induced coma which happens to be rather helpful as we're then sent to bed immediately after. Even with a bedtime of six o'clock, we'll still at most only have six hours sleep. The final day is due to start at the stroke of midnight. 

Midnight arrives but it's neither Miguel nor my alarm which has woken me up; it's the sound of the roaring storm outside. At half past, Miguel appears and though he serves up breakfast he explains we're unlikely to leave for another hour at least. It turns out that walking on a mountain in the middle of a storm with metal strapped to your feet isn't advisable, even in Bolivia. 

The snow doesn't stop coming and each time we open the door to attempt to leave, we're thrown back indoors; a warning from the wind. It's almost three o'clock when we finally succeed and by then I'm ready to just crawl back into bed! Even my freezing cold sleeping bag seems more appealing than what's waiting for us outside.

Nevertheless, we crack on knowing that it will all be worth it when we reach the top. As it's still pitch black, Miguel attaches us all to a rope but whilst it keeps us altogether, I find it continually tangled in my feet. Up front his head torch shines just a couple of inches ahead but aside from this, we see absolutely nothing. Occasionally the light plays tricks on us, casting shadows which look like the top of a hill. They rarely are; until we reach the very top, we just need to keep going up, up and up.

Through the wind we hear Miguel call back to us: 'No camina!' The storm has covered what was once the trail and now we're following whatever path Miguel clears with his ice axe. However, even with the rope we're still a way behind him and the snowfall is so heavy that by the time we catch up, the path's buried again. We're attempting to walk diagonally up the side of a mountain on a near vertical slant and it's bloody scary. 

'Piqueta in left!' On Miguel's instruction we secure each step with our ice axes, digging them deep into the ground beside us. Sometimes this helps as they hit hard ice but we can't afford to rely them completely as too often they simply sink into the snow, causing us then to collapse sideways.

I try to lose myself to my thoughts to pass the time but two particular thoughts overpower all else; I'm so cold, and, I'm so tired. Instead I focus on the pattern of my steps: ice axe, left foot, ice axe, right foot, ice axe... I'm falling into a trance. 

No, I'm falling down the mountain!

Snapped out of my dream like state I scream as I tumble further and further down the slope, chased by an avalanche of thick, heavy snow. It feels endless and I close my eyes tightly, helplessly begging for it to stop.

A quick jolt and everything goes quiet. Disorientated, I'm unsure which way is up until I see Hana a few feet above me; of course, we're attached! My ice axe had disturbed a whole load of fresh snow, triggering a landslide which took me down with it, along with Hana a little way behind. Thank goodness for Miguel who had dug his heels in and stopped us from falling the entire way down. Hero acknowledgement, number two. 

Slowly I pull myself back up and with the help of Miguel, I begin to clamber up the mountain. I'm shaking but I'm unsure whether it's from shock or the cold. As I fell the snow found its way into the insides of my clothing and I now can't imagine ever being warm. Only as I feel tears freeze on my face do I realise that I've even been crying.

Miguel is babbling something in Spanish which I can't even attempt to decipher so I go with a trusty 'si' and continue on. Ice axe, left foot, ice axe, right foot. In the distance we see a flashlight which isn't Miguel's. 'Otre grupo!' If it's still dark, they surely can't have made it to the top yet? As they approach, their faces confirm our suspicions; they've had to give up. 'Mucha nieve. Imposible.' Their guide tries to tell us to turn back but Miguel has other ideas. He's convinced that they just left too early and got too cold. If it clears soon, we'll be absolutely fine! 

We trudge on. Ice axe, left foot, ice axe, right foot.

'Look, las instrellas!' Miguel's right. We'd barely noticed but the stars are out, meaning that the clouds have cleared and the snow has finally stopped! Even through the dark we can tell that he's positively beaming. 'Chicas guapas, vamos a la cumbre!' There's no stopping us, we're going to the top.

We've been climbing for two hours when we take our first break. Distracted by cookies and coca leaf sweets, we don't at first acknowledge the lights of La Paz behind us. From this high, we can see almost the entire city; thousands of tiny golden lights glistening behind us. It's crazy to think we'll be back there today. 

Ice axe, left foot, ice axe, right foot. More and more flashlights appear of groups that are turning back. Each time we pass them, the guide stops and speaks to Miguel in Spanish. Though I understand very little, the word 'imposible' keeps coming up and is 'impossible' to ignore. Again, Miguel insists that they just left too early. We're overcome with adoration for our guide who is yet to give up on us. 'Chicas fuertes, vamos a la cumbre!'

However, each time Miguel calls out 'strong girls' I'm feeling weaker. Is it the altitude or fatigue which is making me feel sick? We're now at 5,600 metres which is by far the highest I've ever been on foot and I don't know what my limit will be. My scarf has frozen solid against my face and I can't remember ever being this cold.

More groups. Unwillingly I'm starting to doubt our guide. 'Are you sure we're okay to make it to the top?' He writes his reply in the snow. 'Chicas fuertes. Climb with me.' I can't help but notice that he doesn't explicitly say 'yes', instead just implying that we'll give it a bloody good shot. 'Chicas fuertes, chicas fuertes'. By this point I'm unsure whether he's trying to convince himself, or us.

We pass what we believe to be the final group returning to high camp. Nobody today has made it to the summit.  The faith inside all of us is flickering but we won't give up hope whilst Miguel is still soldiering on. 

In the distance we can just make out the dreaded ice wall. It certainly doesn't look any easier than the practice one! I wiggle my fingers and toes in an attempt to prepare them but even underneath all of these layers, every extremity is completely numb. 'Wait', Miguel orders. He'll free climb first and then we'll follow up the rope. 

We wait and wait, and wait...and wait. 

Every minute which passes without us not moving is making us a million times colder. I'm dying to get up that wall! Finally: 'No. Peligroso!' Too dangerous? What? Did he really just call down to us or was it the howling wind? Even as Miguel comes clambering down, we don't quite believe that we've been defeated. We're chicas fuertes, surely we'll find a way? We still have more in us!

But the decision is made. At the top of the wall the snow is over a metre deep and Miguel would rather we're chicas alive. It's too much even for him and before we know it we're heading back down the way we came, having not attempted the final 300 metres.

Anti-climactic is the only way to describe this moment. We're absolutely gutted to have come so close and yet remain so far. We'll never know that feeling of relief when we reach the top and know that each step was worth every bit of pain. But as the sun begins to rise, I soon realise it was worth it regardless of whether we made summit or not. The mountains are absolutely incredible and I can't think of a single moment more beautiful than this in our entire trip. Can it really have been any more amazing just another 300 metres higher?

I don't know, but what I do know is that my mood quickly changes and I'm both happy and proud for what we've achieved. We climbed to 5,700 metres on a day when most people would hide away inside, and as a reward we witnessed the beautiful white world that very few really get to see. 

Despite the aches and pains, the return journey is actually pretty fun. The sun has started to melt the snow but even so, there's still enough to slide most of the way down. It's like skiing but without the rather essential equipment of skis so we end up on our bums for a lot of it, half snowboarding, half tobogganing, and just generally having a really good time. 

It may not have been the result we'd hoped for but the experience as a whole was nevertheless better than I ever dreamed it would be. And this isn't over! If we ever find ourselves in La Paz again, I wouldn't hesitate to give Huayna Potosi another good go. 

Loco La Paz

I instantly fell in love with La Paz. The hills surrounding the city are completely covered with red brick buildings which from the ground level look like hundreds of tiny blocks of lego stacked on top of one another to create a colourful little toy town. By night these hills transform, with each small block being replaced by a bright light glowing through the darkness like an abstract reflection of the stars above. 

Behind these hills stand the grander mountains, so high that their peaks are smothered in snow. We planned to climb one, Huyana Potosi, but first had to spend three days in La Paz to acclimatise to the crazy altitude. This wasn't a problem though as there's plenty to do in the city and we began by joining a free walking tour with two local Bolivians to suss out where would be best to spend our time. 

The tour was brilliant and we learnt so much about La Paz' loco history. It started out at San Pedro prison which is a low security establishment bang in the centre of town. They use the term 'low security' loosely here, for in fact the gates are guarded by just a couple of officers and on the inside the prison is run by the inmates themselves. However, there's little concern for prisoners escaping for most are better off in San Pedro where they live in fancy apartments and have an abundance of customers to support their cocaine business. 

Next we visited the Rodriguez food market which is essentially the locals' open air supermarket. Each stall is run by a cholita, a Bolivian woman in traditional dress. Here, our guide confirmed our suspicions that a Bolivian cholita is not one to be messed with. They're renowned for their strong builds and stronger brains which they use to whip their men and children into shape. 

 Also explained here was the interesting history behind their signature clothing of puffy skirts and top hats which don't actually fit on their heads. The layered skirts make the ladies look larger to imply they have good, child bearing hips and they help keep their legs warm during early mornings on the markets. The hats, on the other hand, serve a much less practical purpose; merely a fashion accessory introduced to the cholitas when the Europeans invaded in the sixteenth century. Though they were initially of course brought over for the men, they were soon sold to the women once the European designers realised they'd underestimated the size of a Bolivian male's head, having wrongly assumed they'd be smaller because they're short. In fact, the average Bolivian has a much larger head and so even on women, these hats were too small. Nevertheless, they made it work by telling the ladies this was how they're worn in Europe and the fashion has stuck ever since. What's even more amazing about these hats is that they now speak a language of their own; a straight up hat signifies a woman is married or taken, whilst one worn on a tilt tells a man that she's single! Cholitas will pay up to thousands of dollars for the best top hats and between them, they're saving the businesses which have long gone bust in Europe where they originated. 

 La Paz is full of amazing markets and the next on our list was the Witch's Market, thus named for all the weird and wonderful concoctions sold at the stalls there. You can find a potion for every purpose, from 'follow me' dust to attract new partners, to 'repel me' powder to rid yourself of unwanted attention (though trying to export this out the country is not advised, for fear that it would be too easily confused with South America's other, more popular powder.) 

Such a phenomenon could reasonably be assumed to be a tourist trap but in fact, the Witch's Market long pre-existed tourism and Bolivians genuinely believe in the magic of these medicines. The llama foetuses available at the market remain one of the best selling items because the locals use them as offerings to their Goddess Pachamama, burying them beneath the foundations of new buildings for good luck. To our horror, our guides explained that for larger constructions, a more significant sacrifice is usually required; humans! The most common victims are the homeless people of La Paz because they're the least likely to be looked for. For this sacrificial ceremony, a construction team would be hired to take the unknowing victim for a few drinks, wait for them to pass out and then bury them deep beneath the concrete before they wake up. Though there's little evidence that such practises still exist, we were still warned against accepting free drinks from any locals. It might take a while for anyone to come looking for us too! 

A little disturbed, we moved onto San Francisco Square where the grand Catholic cathedral stands. Similar to in Peru, the religious faith of most Bolivians is a little complicated. Whilst in many ways they remain true to their ancient beliefs, they've been heavily influenced by the Christianity imposed on them during the Spanish invasion. When the Europeans first arrived they used all sorts of tactics to trick the Bolivians into converting. For example, Bolivians believed that when they were frightened, their souls left them and escaped to heaven and in order to retrieve them, they had to call them back with a traditional arm signal. When the Spaniards saw them waving to the heavens they identified an opportunity and installed mirrors into the alter of the Church; 'You poor, confused people! Your souls are not in heaven; they're here in the Church! Come and look for yourselves!' When the Bolivians set eyes on their reflections in the mirrors they were convinced, but still not converted. 'Can we take them? Can we take back our souls?' they asked. 'No, I'm afraid they are trapped here but what you can do is come and visit them so you can reconnect with your souls whenever you wish.' From then on, the natives were attending a daily mass at the Catholic cathedral. 

The final piece of history we heard that day was the long line of bad presidents the country has suffered. There was a time when coming into political power just meant getting rid of the current president which inevitably ended up with someone being thrown from a balcony or hung in the square. Even the current president who the majority of Bolivians actually approve of has made some monumental errors. For example, he announced on National television that in order to solve their problem of underpopulation, he'd ban the production of condoms and introduce a tax to all women over the age of eighteen who didn't have any children. Fortunately, he quickly felt the wrath of the cholitas rising and apologised a few days later, abolishing the idea completely. However, with such ludicrous laws being passed around it's little wonder that the locals love to riot so much. It's unbelievable, but that's Bolivia! 

We covered a lot of the city during the tour but we didn't have time to stop and shop so we spent the whole of the following day rinsing the markets. It's been so long since we've felt we can spend any money on ourselves and with so many beautiful trinkets to take home as presents, we ended up buying the whole of Bolivia and then returning the next day to do exactly the same.

A Trip to the Amazon: Piranhas, Pink Dolphins and a Painful Bus Journey

We'd been warned about the bus journey to Rurrenbaque. 'Don't do it', they said, 'take a flight instead.' But surely there's no way it could be worse than the hundreds of others we've taken through South America? The rollercoaster ride from Medellin to Ecuador? The twenty four hours to Lima with the leaking ceiling and stinking toilet? Or even most recently, the eighteen hours to Cusco on a bus so cold our fingers turned blue? 

 Well, it turns out there was a way; many in fact. The bus to Rurrenbaque was nothing more than a tin box on wheels into which they crammed dozens of people, along with their twenty pieces of luggage each. Some families appeared to be literally moving house, whilst others were using the bus journey to shift their stock. The underneath of the bus was stuffed with everything from sacks of red onions, to live red squirrels (at least they were alive when we left) and our backpacks had the unfortunate job of cushioning a box filled with chopped up fish. We couldn't get rid of the smell for days. 

Then there were the seats; we may as well have been sitting on rocks for twenty two hours and Hana and I were allocated the only two seats on the entire bus which didn't recline in the slightest. What is more, the little leg room we had was invaded by the crazy number of kids sprawled out on the floor because their parents hadn't bought them actual tickets. 

However, even if the bus had had king sized double beds installed, there still would've been zero chance of us catching any sleep. The 'road' between La Paz and Rurrenbaque is in fact a dirt track with holes and ridges so deep that we were physically coming out of our seats as it bumped along. Just in case that wasn't extreme enough, the road follows the edge of the mountain so at times we were sure we'd be thrown off the cliff face! 

 It was no doubt up there with one of the worst nights of my life but arriving the next day in the Amazon was pretty awesome. We took one day to just relax and recover in the glorious Amazon sunshine and then booked a trip for the following morning to the Pampas wetlands. This also happened to be Erica's birthday so Hana and I woke up super early to wrap presents, blow up balloons and prepare a delicious nutella-filled breakfast before the jeep came to collect us. 

After a three hour drive back down that dreaded dirt track, we arrived at the river where we boarded our boat. Gliding through the water felt heavenly in comparison to the awfully bumpy road and with the sun beaming down, it was the perfect way to spend the afternoon. That was before we even saw any animals! The Pampas wetlands are notorious for rainforest wildlife and we saw plenty along our way. 

First and foremost were the alligators who were mostly basking out on the banks but occasionally we'd come across one taking a dip. Our guide assured us that these gigantic beasts take little interest in tourists but it was nevertheless pretty nerve wracking to be so close to them with only a wooden long boat as protection. If any of them fancied a change in diet, they'd smash through the boat in seconds. 

A little less terrifying were the families of turtles and the tiny yellow monkeys we found bounding around in the bushes. The latter were so friendly that we were able to sail right up to them and some even joined us aboard the boat (although at this point Hana decided they were as menacing as the alligators.) Higher up in the shrubbery we spotted all kinds of birds of paradise, many so large that they appeared to defy all laws of science by being able to fly. It was like seeing a turkey up a tree! 

We were almost at the lodge when the first dolphin appeared from beneath the surface. Unique to this area of the Amazon, these dolphins are pink in colour and as they swam a little way with us alongside the boat, we were absolutely mesmerised by their presence. However, we didn't dwell too long in the area as we'd be seeing much more of them the next morning and our guide seemed keen to reach the lodge. 

Of course; it was the World Cup Final! The little wooden shacks were incredibly basic but somehow they'd set up a satellite TV and we watched the game from the comfort of hammocks out on the riverside decking. 

 Rather conveniently, it finished just in time for sunset so we jumped back on the boat and sailed a little way downstream to find the perfect spot to watch the sun disappear below the horizon. There was not a single cloud in the sky as it transitioned from its vibrant blue to bright orange, finally settling on a deep purple at dusk. Unfortunately though we weren't the only ones enjoying this beautiful setting; millions of mosquitoes had shown up to watch the sunset whilst simultaneously indulging in a feast. To avoid being completely eaten alive, we escaped back onto the boat and returned to our camp. 

The way back was amazing. In the darkness, the water looked like rippling silk and the forestry either side was lit up with hundreds of tiny fireflies, twinkling in the treetops like fallen stars caught in the branches. The stars themselves, however, were not to be upstaged, shining brightly alongside the silver moon. We'd almost forgotten our reptile friends until our torches fell upon the golden lights glowing from the riverbanks; alligator eyes! It was pretty surreal and absolutely stunning. 

Back at the lodge, we had dinner waiting for us and it was one of the most wholesome meals we've had in the whole of South America. To top it all off, they brought out a surprise birthday cake for Erica which was decorated with dulce de leche and tasted delicious! Sadly Erica was feeling ill so couldn't stomach any but Hana and I ate enough for everyone. 

Before we knew it we were back on the boat again, this time to watch the sunrise. It was five thirty when we set off so still rather dark but whilst we couldn't see any animals, we could certainly hear them! The larger howler monkeys were out in full force, growling their 'Good Mornings' like monsters from a cave. 

As we sailed along, a mist arose so although it was gradually getting lighter, our visibility barely improved. It was a little eerie but very cool and we arrived at the marshland just in time to see the red sphere rise behind a thick pink cloud. Though a complete contrast to the clear sunset the previous evening, it was by no means any less beautiful. 

After a banging breakfast back at the lodge it was time to go and play with the dolphins. I'd been so excited to get closer to these animals but when it actually came to jumping into the water, I was pretty scared. There were alligators about; we'd seen dozens the past two days! 

The lovely story we'd been sold that 'the dolphins' enchantments protect you from any harm' all of a sudden didn't suffice. I needed facts. Why, when there were so many alligators lurking about, were we so sure we wouldn't meet any? It turned out that the two never share the same space because dolphins only swim in deep water and alligators, shallow. Therefore as long as we followed the dolphins we'd be absolutely fine. 

Phew. We were in! The river was a murky brown colour from the clay so we couldn't see the dolphins until they appeared right beside us. They have to surface every couple of minutes for air and it was amazing to be in such close proximity to these beautiful creatures. Back on the boat we did our best to capture the dolphins on camera but they continually outsmarted us and our best shots looked like nothing more than a greyish pink lump disturbing the water. Fortunately, even without the photos, I think it's an experience I'll never forget. 

Before heading off, we stopped the boat for one last activity; a spot of fishing. It was then we learnt that we'd also been sharing the water with a bunch of piranhas! We were rather useless at first but by the end, we'd all three of us caught a piranha each. Hana's was yellow, mine and Erica's pink, and all pretty small as far as piranhas go. Even so, they still had teeth like tiny daggers which could do some serious damage regardless of their size. 

Immersing ourselves in the Amazon was absolutely magical and one of the best experiences of our entire trip. I'd go as far as saying it was the perfect weekend, if only we now didn't have to get back onto that god awful bus...
 

A Cooking Class in Cusco

With only a few weeks left in South America, the time had come to move on from Peru but we weren't yet ready to leave Peruvian food behind. Therefore, on our last day in Cusco Hana and I enrolled onto a cooking course so that we could recreate the magic, even when we're back home in our own kitchens ten thousand miles away.

The menu of the day consisted of crema de quinoa, chillis rellentas and fondue de chocolate y frutta, accompanied of course with a pisco sour. Such an epic feast required a number of ingredients so we began our day with a visit to the local market. Whilst there the head chef stopped at various stalls and picked up all sorts of exotic fruits for us to try. I wish we'd known sooner what we've been missing out on! One in particular, called chirimoyo, caught my attention. Whilst it took the shape of a deformed apple, it tasted like a juicy candy floss; simultaneously refreshing and sweet!

Other parts of the market weren't so pleasant. Though it was interesting to see the local stalls versus the tourist ones, I could have done without witnessing pigs being sliced open in the aisles, chicken feet poking out at all angles, and cows heads with their teeth still intact stacked up on display. It was almost enough to put us off our impending meal!

Almost, but not quite. Back in the kitchen we were raring to go and got started right away with the preparations. Here's how it went...

Crema de Quinoa: 

250g ground quinoa
1 clove garlic
1/2 onion
 250g diced beef
1 egg
1 spoon coriander
1/4 tsp cumin
1/4 tsp pepper
Salt to taste

Step 1 - Finely dice garlic and onion and place into an oiled pan. Add 1/4 tsp of cumin and the same again of pepper.

Step 2 - Fry the diced beef until its dry. Add more oil and repeat until meat is light brown. Then add one cup of water per person.

Step 3 - Grind the quinoa and add the flour to the mixture. Stir it altogether until thick and creamy. 

Step 4 - Sprinkle with coriander as a finishing touch.

Chillis Rellentas: 

 2 big chillis
300g minced beef
3 cloves of garlic
1/2 tsp cumin
1 spoon ground chilli
1 medium onion
2 carrots
50g peas
20 peanuts
1 hard boiled egg or olives
60g cheese
1 fresh egg
4 tbsp spoons oil
1 tsp cumin
1 tsp pepper
 Salt to taste

Step 1 - Slice the head off each chilli and remove any seeds and veins. This makes room for the stuffing but more importantly, reduces the otherwise insane spice.

Step 2 - Place the chillis and their hats into a pan and leave to boil for 7-10 minutes. Drain the water and repeat this a further two times.

Step 3 - Meanwhile, finely dice the garlic, carrots and onions.

Step 4 - Crush yellow chilli and peanuts in two separate bowls and grind into pastes.

Step 5 - Put 4 tbsp of vegetable oil into a pan and add the garlic. Next  add a tsp of cumin followed by a sprinkling of pepper, and then the chilli paste.

Step 6 - Once mixed together, add the onions and stir until clear and soft. Then add the minced beef and mix in thoroughly. Throw in the diced carrots and peas and cover it all in water.

Step 7 - Finally, add the peanut paste and leave to simmer for 15-20 minutes.

Step 8 - Add two teaspoons of salt and take mixture off the heat.

 Step 9 - Oil a tray and place the chillis onto it.

Step 10 - Hardboil eggs or use olives to slice and place in the bottom of the chillis. Then fill the rest of the chilli with the mixture.

Step 11 - Place a slice of mature cheese between the chilli and its hat.

 Step 12 - Whisk one egg white, add the yolk and a pinch of salt and continue whisking. When ready, drizzle the egg over the chilli hats.

Step 13 - Place the tray into the oven and bake on high (approximately 240 degrees) for 15 minutes.

Fondue de Chocolate y Frutta 

200g dark chocolate
1/4 cup milk
Fruit of your choice

Step 1 - Slice your chosen fruit (we used pepino and banana but any will work) and spear them onto a kebab stick.

 Step 2 - Break up dark chocolate into small pieces and place them in a bowl over a pan of boiling water. Once melted, add the milk and mix in.

 Step 3 - Pour into an ice cream bowl and serve with fruit on the side.

 Pisco Sour

3 ounces pisco
1 ounce lime juice
1 ounce bar syrup
1 egg white
6 ice cubes
3-4 drops of angostora bitter

Step 1 - Pour a triple measure of pisco, into a cocktail shaker.

Step 2 - Add 25ml of lime juice and 25ml of bar syrup.

Step 3 - Throw in six ice cubes and secure the lid.

Step 4 - Shake for 2 minutes or until the ice cubes sound broken.

Step 5 - Pour into glass and add 3-4 drops of angostora bitter.

Step 6 - Try not to down it in one.

The pisco sours went down so well, I'd nearly finished mine before the starters had even been served. However, once the quinoa soup arrived, I was quickly distracted by how delicious it was. If I were to cook it again I think I'd leave out the beef as the soup itself was thick and creamy, making it filling enough without the additional meat. In fact, I had to force myself not to finish it so that I still had some room left for the rest of the meal.

Our main course was presented so beautifully, it almost looked too good to eat. The chillis were accompanied by a variety of different potatoes; regular, black, white and roka, just four of the four thousand  varieties found in Peru. Whilst the yellow and red chillis were a little on the spicy side for us wimpy Europeans, the green ones were just perfect and tasted amazing mixed together with the stuffing and the cheese. They make a great dish for dinner parties because they look amazing and taste even better, and I can't wait to try them again at home.

Had it been anything other than fondue, I'd probably have had to pass on dessert but who can say no to a bowl of melted chocolate? My mouth is watering at the very thought. The pepino fruit has a subtle taste so was simply a refreshing addition to the perfect chocolate and banana combo! We all but licked our bowls clean.

 Hana and I were joined on the course by an American family so enjoyed the meal altogether with them. It was a lovely evening and the perfect way to end our time in Peru, having come away with great recipes, full bellies, and a place to stay if we ever find ourselves in Washington!